


Blame the Universe Itself

by BuzzCat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drinking, Gen, but like not painful angst just more like 'yeah we got screwed by the cosmos'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 09:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15704451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: In two very places in two very different ways, two twins celebrate their twenty-first birthday. Forty years later, they look back on it.





	Blame the Universe Itself

Stan sat in the front seat of the Stanley Mobile, parked outside the local bar and stared at his watch. Just a few more seconds. Then he could go in and _legally_ drink all he wanted. He was going to do shots, enough shots for him and Ford both. Ford wasn’t there and Stan didn’t think his brother was ever going to be there again, but that didn’t mean Stan wasn’t going to drink enough for both of them.

His watch hit midnight and Stan grinned, even if he pretended it wasn’t a little bittersweet as he pushed the door open and he went into the bar.

“Happy birthday, bro,” he said under his breath as he flashed his ID that read Stanley Pinington.

 

Ford didn’t even realize it was his birthday until noon of the next day. He was working on his thesis, neck deep in texts and tomes the likes of which even most of his professors didn’t know existed. It was only when Fiddleford knocked on one of his walls of books that he looked up, words with at least sixteen syllables flashing behind his eyes,

“Yes?”

“So what are we doing tonight?” Fiddleford asked him. Ford frowned,

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight.” Fiddleford stared at him, waiting for Ford to catch on. Ford still looked like a deer in headlights until Fiddleford rolled his eyes, “Yesterday was your twenty-first birthday, Ford. I think you fell asleep in the library last night, so tonight we’re going drinking.”

“Oh.” Ford suddenly flashed to everything Stan had ever said about their twenty-first birthday. How they were going to go out and drink all night, puke and rally until the bars closed and until they’d made at least twenty-two bad choices, one for each of their fingers. Stan had talked about doing shots on shots, about making Ford take the name of Tesla in vain and a thousand and one other things. Ford had always laughed at his plans, bet Stan all his pocket money at the time that he could explain light cones and the like even while drunk. Stanley said the only time that science crap would make sense would be when he was drunk. They’d had all these plans.

And here Ford was. And there Stanley wasn’t.

Which was perfectly fine with him, of course. It would be ridiculous for him to miss the brother who had ruined his chances at a school that actually mattered.

“No, I think tonight would be an excellent time to study. We have that test coming up in two weeks, after all,” Ford said, turning back to his notebook. Fiddleford rolled his eyes,

“Ford, I know you’re always a bit strange about your birthday, but—”

“Then you know this birthday is no different and I would like it to pass largely unremarked upon,” Ford snapped. Fiddleford sighed, throwing a wrapped box over the top of Ford’s pile of books.

“Fine. But you’re getting a present, whether you like it or not.”

Ford hesitated, then unwrapped the box. It was the newest copy of D&D&MD. He smiled shyly,

“Thank you, Fiddleford.”

And Ford went back to his paper.

 

Forty years later, Stan and Ford sat on their boat, staring up at the sky. The stars were out, beautiful out in the middle of the ocean where there wasn’t a city for a hundred miles. Each of them had a glass of whiskey. Ford insisted on buying the good stuff and Stan insisted on actually drinking it, instead of just looking at it on a shelf.

The good stuff, of course, was pretty much gone. Stan was staring up at the stars through the bottom of his glass,

“Hey Ford?”

“Mhm?” Ford was looking off at the ocean, idly swirling the bit of liquor left in his glass.

“What’d you do for your twenty-first?” The question was tinged with sadness, a sort of reflective nostalgia that Stanley only seemed to have in the wee hours of the morning.

“Nothing. Not that I can recall, at least. Fiddleford probably gave me a gift.”

“You didn’t go out drinking?”

“No. I, I didn’t want to. You had all these plans of what we’d do once we were old enough to go drink and…” Ford trailed off.

Stan grunted in response, then was silent. Ford waited a moment, then,

“What’d you do?”

“I went out with a fake ID and took twenty-two shots.”

“What?” Ford asked. “Stanley, that’s incredibly—”

“That’d been the plan, before you left. You weren’t there to drink with me, so I took your shots for you. I guess…I guess I kind of hoped you’d been out drinking too. You know, some sort of sappy crap about us both doing the same thing at the same time.”

Ford was quiet.

“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, swishing in the air like the ocean against the beach. Stan frowned,

“For what?”

“For all the time we missed out on. If I had…” Ford trailed off, wrapped up in guilt. Stan turned to look at Ford,

“Hey, that’s not your fault. We…I think we both fucked up.”

“It’s not your fault either,” Ford said. Stan shrugged,

“I know. I think at this point, we can firmly place the blame at the universal forces at large,” Stan said it so matter-of-factly that Ford couldn’t help but agree. Obviously, the only feet at which to place the blame was the universe itself.

“Hey,” Ford held up his glass, “fuck the universe?”

Stanley clinked his glass against Ford’s, “Fuck the universe.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as an answer to a prompt on my 'I'm Live and Accepting Prompts!' story. If you want to send in a prompt, subscribe there and leave me a prompt when they open!
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr! Come hang out at beatrice-babe.tumblr.com


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